


Untitled

by blckpnk



Category: House of Cards (US TV)
Genre: Claire is mentioned a total of once i think, M/M, Unfinished, basically a mega drabble, no real plot, the gay shit doesn't start until like the very end, unedited, won't judge if u skip right to there tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-12 05:01:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11154771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blckpnk/pseuds/blckpnk
Summary: An unfinished work that lost its plot halfway through.  I figured 16,000 words shouldn't go to waste so here it is.





	Untitled

**Author's Note:**

> This is unfinished, and also quite anti-climatic. I started this with the intent of writing the longest fic i possibly could but i just never got around to finishing it. Plot kind of dies out halfway, and I've been so sick of this work that I only edited half. So enjoy if you care to read this all haha.

“Your firearm, Meechum.” The lights flashed around him, the voice rang in his ears.

“Your firearm, Agent.” Captain Cardiff said, arm outstretched, voice stern and loud.

Edward moved slowly. He pressed the cool metal of the gun against his palm as he brought it out of it’s holster and placed it the Captain’s hand. His fingers lingered on the drum longer then they needed to. He brought his hand back to his side, and felt a cold whoosh of air where the heaviness of his gun should’ve been it felt strangely vulnerable.

He flicked his eyes up to the Underwoods, who were huddling together on the steps. They murmured to each other. He couldn’t hear what they were saying.

He imagined it going a little something like this:

“He’s not anything like Steve.” Claire whispered, glancing down at the Agent at the foot of the stairs.

“I’ll put in for a replacement. Such a shame, really. I liked the kid.”

But what he did not know; couldn’t have known. Was that the words that passed between their lips were ones laced with guilt. When they glanced down at him, with glares harder then steel, it was an act, one that they were far too good at. If Doug had never thrown the brick, this would’ve never happened.

“I need your badge, too.” The Captain said, hand held out again, waiting.

Edward knew it was coming, how could he not of? But he still sputtered.

“Am I suspended, Sir?”

The Captain sighed, he looked sorry, but he spoke again.

“Your badge, Agent.”

Edward’s hands shook as he reached to unclip the badge, he traced the engraving on the metal before he passed it over. Their was a long moment where he considered not letting it go. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Underwoods retreat back into their home.

He must’ve looked either distraught or confused, because the Captain spoke again.

“You had a suspect on foot, and you fire your gun?”

Edward still felt like he was a million miles away, watching this happen to someone else, like a spectator.

“Sir I realize that—“

“Do you know how this reflect’s on me?” Cardiff said, voice cold, hard. Like stone.

“That one of our men could be so careless? Not only did you leave your post—“ He spat the next words “for Coffee.”

Edward’s eyes burned, he looked down at his feet and focused in on a bug that’s slipped between the cracks in the pavement.

“You could have killed a bystander!”

The Captain stepped forward, the bug crushed beneath his foot.

“That slug landed on somebody’s front doorstep. What if it’d went in their house?”

Edward gulped, he felt light without his badge clipped on his pants and his gun snug in it’s holster. He felt like he could’ve floated away. He also felt embarrassed, he felt his cheeks heat with shame.

  
—

When he entered his shitty apartment later that night, he didn’t bother to lock the door. He closed it, shrugged off his suit jacket and threw it wherever, he didn’t care where it landed. There was no noise, just the sound of his feet shuffling along the floor. The sound of his panting breaths. He had taken the stairs.

He collapsed on the first thing he had come in contact with, which happened to be the sofa. He cradled his head in his hands, his elbows dug painfully into thighs. For a moment, he sat there, listened to the sound of his own breath, and felt guilt.

He replayed the event over. The sound of glass shattering. The gasp from Mrs.Underwood and his instincts taking over. Years of marine training, months of USCP training. Then the next thing he could recall was a gun smoking in his hand, and the dread that spread throughout his body.

A whimper escaped from his clenched teeth, followed by another, and soon he was shaking with sobs. Tears stained the cuffs of his shirt. He felt worthless, useless.

He’d lost his gun, his badge, his fucking job.

His job. The one that he had lusted over as a child, wide eyed and curious in front of a TV. Watching all these cool special agents do things he thought he could only dream about.

He’d likely have to go back to being a regular cop, or something as equally loathsome. Stopping petty crimes and directing traffic. Because apparently he couldn’t be trusted with protecting someone. Because he’s suddenly all trigger happy.

He sobbed into the quiet room, breaths ragged, tight fists pulled his hair.

After an hour or so he shuddered his last sob and got up. He forced himself to accept the burning behind his eyes and slinked into the bathroom. Where he examined himself carefully in the mirror. The yellow light made him look sickly, his eyes red and puffy, cheeks flush and shining, hair tussled.

“You fucked up.” He said, talking to the figure in the mirror.

“You’re worthless, meaningless, useless.” He imagined that it was the person in the mirror saying those words, he imagined that it was talking to him.

Without a second thought, he swung his arm, his fist collided with the mirror, it shattered. A sharp pain shot up his arm.

“Fuck!” He yelled into the room, but all it did was bounce off the walls.

Then, he had a sobering moment, when he looked down and saw a gash running down his wrist, and bleeding knuckles.

He recoiled in horror, hearing the glass crunch under his shoes. He slid down the wall, brought his knees up to his chest and buried his face in them, there he sat, breathing in and out.

Inhale.

Exhale.

When he awoke still sat amongst the broken glass, with a sharp pain in his back and a dull ache in his arm. He stood up, hearing his joints crack and moan. When he looked down at his arm, it was caked in dry blood.

For a sleep drunk moment he wondered where the hell he was, but when he remembered he wished he hadn’t

Edward stumbled out of the bathroom, not giving a damn about the glass or the arm. He glanced at the screen of his digital clock, 3:35am, he didn’t have to be up until 6.

He collapsed face down onto the bed, still in his suit, tie still hung loosely around his neck, and he slept.

Outside, the world revolved around him. People lived and died, and he slept; he slept a dreamless sleep that supplied him with nothing. Because when he woke up, he was still tired.

The alarm clock was loud compared to the silence of his sleep, and it jolted him awake with a harsh force. For a moment, it felt as if everything was normal. But when his eyes opened and adjusted to the darkness, he saw the blood encrusted arm. He felt a dull ache from his knuckles and he remembered.

He remembered the empty holster, the cool metal of his badge, and he whimpered into the stale air. He stood up, undressed and made his way to the bathroom, his apartment was cold. He turned on the shower made the water as hot as he could and stepped in.

He watched the drops cascade down his skin, leaving a fiery trail of red in their wake. He scrubbed away at the congealed blood, watched it fall onto the white porcelain. For a moment, in that shower, he imagined he was dreaming, that he would awake again, and nothing would be wrong. He imagined that the past 24 hours were a figment of an overactive imagination and a night of bad dreams.

But when the water seeped into his eyes, he realized that real life could be a nightmare too.

He turned the water off, stepped back out into the cool air, and wrapped a thin layer of gauze around the thick cut. Then he dressed himself, it was all automatic, no thought. He felt a dark emptiness spread itself throughout his body. It seeped into his blood stream, pumped through his veins.

He did the same thing he would do every morning. Water the half-dead plants. Search through the cupboards for the instant coffee. watch the morning news. But this time, when he left for the door, he didn’t make sure his badge was in place, he didn’t re-holster his gun. He slipped out silently, and breathed through his nose.

He knew what he had to do.

—

Everywhere he looked, he could see things taunting him. The curve of a hub cap was like a smirk. The honk of a car a bark of laughter. Someones road rage in another language was a disappointed voice preaching a sermon to his failure.

The capitol building was the most mocking thing of all. Standing tall and proud, unforgiving. It burned his eyes just to look at it. When he stepped out of the car, the heavy air of Washington surrounded him and he didn’t even bother to shiver.

When he stepped into the stuffy building, the first thing he noticed different was a pair of Agents. laughing to each other in the corner.

He swiped his card through the security slot, and thought came forward from the back of his mind.

He needed a visitor pass.

Gingerly, he grabbed one, and made his way through the halls. He felt like a ghost roaming the rooms of a place he once lived. But he was anything but transparent. He could feel peoples eyes on him as he headed to his destination. They lingered on the visitor pass stuck to his suit. the empty space where his badge should be.

His destination was a decision he had made in the shower. When the water stung his eyes and made him momentarily blind.

He had gone to see Frank Underwood.

This was not a pride filled decision, it was more of a mortifying one. Edward Meechum was not one to beg.

He finally reached his office, and sat himself in the chair just to the side of the large door. He tried to shrink down, flatten himself. So the passerby wouldn’t give him looks of pity or amusement.

Because he was the Agent dumb enough to leave his post for coffee.

Nancy appeared from out of her office, surely intent on being somewhere else. But she spotted the Agent out of the corner of her eye, and did a double take.

“Edward?” She asked, her grip loosened on the stack of folders cradled against her chest.

Her face screwed up in sympathy. Edward hated sympathy.

“You can’t be here.” Her voice was soft, like she was comforting a child.

“I need to speak with Mr. Underwood.”

“You can’t-“

Doug whipped around the corner, face screwed in determination.

Why is everyone so determined on doing things today? He thought, Nancy with her papers, Doug with god knows what, him with Underwood.

He passed by the two without a second glance, and headed down a hallway. But a few seconds passed of Nancy going on about something Edward didn’t care to remember, he came back.

“Ed- you need to go.” His voice was loud, not at all subtle, it drew attention to them.

“I just need a moment.”

Doug stepped forward, he’s leaning down over where Edward is sitting, trying to intimidate him.

“You need to go- “

Edward saw a group of staffers in the corner suddenly very interested in what was going on. A Agent who was on post a little farther down angle his feet towards them.

Nancy opened her mouth to say something but Frank Underwood’s office door swung open. He stepped out with a woman that Edward did not know, but he didn’t linger on her long, because he hopped out of his seat.

“Congressman, do you have a moment?”

“Ed- Please.” Doug was still being loud, Edward wondered if he was drawing attention on purpose.

Frank shook the lady’s hand, and turned around to his right hand man, and the Agent who was good as fired.

“What’s going on out here?” He asked as he eyed Edward with a look so sharp it could cut through steel.

“I’m taking care of it.” Doug said. He stepped halfway in front of the Agent and blocked Edward from Underwood’s sight.

“Please- I only need a moment.”

Frank waved a hand at Doug, who stepped away mumbling something under his breath.

“Alright Meechum. Make it fast.” Frank spoke loud.

Edward felt more eyes fall on him.

“It’s not easy for me to ask this, Sir.”

And it wasn’t. Part of him was in right enough mind to suggest he turn around, and take his discharge like a man, keep his pride in tact. But goddammit if he didn’t have this job what would he have?

An application for unemployment and a identity crisis, thats what.

“But I was wondering if you could put in a good word with my boss.” He said softly, not meeting Underwood’s gaze.

As soon as the word’s had left his lips, he regretted them. Because Congressman Underwood was looking at him with a bored gaze. It was embarrassing, and shameful.

The heavy weight of humiliation settled itself in his stomach, his cheeks burned with it.

“A good word?” He said it like a statement, like he was scolding a foolish school child.

Edward felt like a foolish school child.

“They’re going to- to discharge me, Sir.” His voice cracked, and a flicker of sympathy passed over Underwood’s face.

Now he was properly begging. Trying to appeal to the sympathetic side of a ruthless politician.

He should’ve thought this through.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a larger crowd forming. a throng of people pretended to do something, just to catch in on his latest embarrassment.

Frank shifted his weight, took a step around him.

“I know I messed up- I’m fully aware of that-“ He pleaded, “But my job Sir- It means everything to me.”

And it did. Because with out this… this sense of duty, that he had never felt in the police force or even the marines, he had nothing. No personality, no interests. He based his whole life around this job, he revolved around it like it was the sun.

Frank stared deep into the agents eyes, they swam with anxiety.

“I know a good word from you would-“

Someone coughed in the background, and Frank drew his attention to the people eavesdropping. He hurried himself up.

“Look, I have nothing personal against you, Meechum-“

Really he didn’t, actually he had taken quite the liking to him. He was the only security detail in years who hadn’t annoyed the hell out of him, or bored him to tears.

“But I can’t get involved in these sort of things, there’s protocols and rules.”

He stepped forward, moved towards a room Edward had never been in before, Ed was desperate.

“Please-“ He blurted, louder then intended, it rang out in the hallway, clear and loud.

“If you could just talk to Cardiff-“ Ed’s hand subconsciously reached up to rub the back of his neck, a nervous habit.

Frank’s eyes lingered on the white bandage exposed by the ridden up sleeve when he turned around. Edward quickly brought his arm back down, fixed his sleeve.

“I’m sorry, Meechum, my hands are tied.” He said, but his voice was more remorseful, less forceful.

Edward watched him duck into a room, Doug followed on his heels, and turned to give Meechum an ugly glare.

Edward fled.

He ducked into the nearest bathroom. It was empty. He stepped into the first stall on the right, fingers fumbled with the lock, his vision swam. He pressed his forehead into the cool metal of the door and closed his cold hands together in some sort of sick prayer. A prayer to Frank Underwood. A self proclaimed god.

He mumbled into the still air, and hoped it would make it’s way through the soundproof walls.

A prayer for the wicked.

And perhaps it did nestle itself inside of Frank Underwood. Because in the dark of night, he lie awake. For every time he closed his eyes all he could see the defeat wash over Edward Meechum’s face.

While Frank Underwood tossed in inadmissible guilt, Edward Meechum had drunken himself into a stupor.

The next morning went very different for both of them.

Frank awoke in silence. Claire had slipped out earlier, he knew because the sheets beside him were cold.

Edward awoke with a loud headache. That made itself known by pounding in time to his heartbeat and a twisting in his stomach. He was still sprawled across his sofa from the night before.  
  
—

Frank could still feel the ticklish fingers of guilt on the back of his neck when he stepped into the capitol.

Edward was still sprawled out across the sofa.

The day went by in a blur for the both of them. Frank’s mind bogged down by bills, and votes, and the idiotic teachers strike. Edward’s mind swam with vodka and his body numbed by cheap beer.

—

Doug triple checked the 911 logs for the fifth time. It was 3 in the afternoon, and they had nothing of importance done. The only thing Frank had eaten all day was shitty stale coffee and a crumbly danish. But pangs of conscious in his gut kept him full.  
  
After a long session of pondering. He decided what he had to do.

“Doug?”

Stamper looked up over his glasses and shuffled papers.

“Get me Captain Cardiff on the line.”

—

Edward got the phone call in the early hour of 11:00am, still half hungover and still in the same suit from a day and a half ago.

“Meechum-“ He said into the phone, not bothering to look at the caller ID.

“My Office. 12:30.”

Edward brought the phone down and looked at the caller ID. The Captain.

“Sir?”

“Be prepared for a long shift.”

Edward’s heart leaped, he jumped up off of the sofa, ignoring the crick in his neck from sleeping in a weird position.

“Yes sir!”

He bounced around his apartment with a giddiness he’d hardly felt before. He had a job. He was still an agent.

On the way to the capitol, the curve of a hubcap was a smile.

—

The Captain’s door was propped open, Edward approached like he would in a training operation. Slow, quiet, hyperaware. He could heard the Captain shuffle papers. He straightened a wrinkle out of his suit, ran a hand through his hair, and knocked once.

A clipped “Come In,” more shuffling.

The Captain gestured for Edward to sit down. He did, the stiff leather creaked under his weight.

“You realize that you’ve broken multiple protocols?”

Edward gulped.

“Yes Sir.”

He reached into his desk, and pulled out Edward’s badge, it gleamed in the light.

“You understand that if I had anything to say about it, you wouldn’t be getting this back?”

Edward was puzzled, because he had all the say in this, he was the Captain of the USCP, he had all the say in this.

“Sir?”

“I had your discharge papers all processed when Underwood called. ‘Said if I didn’t clear your slate he’d make The President do it. ‘Was a bitch to get the discharge revoked.” The Captain said, spitting the congressman’s name. Eyeing Edward with something that made the hair on the back of his neck stand straight up.

Edward stayed silent. The voice in the back of his head wondered if Underwood actually was kind at heart. He wondered if the silent prayer in the bathroom worked.

His badge slid across the table, and he caught it before it fell off. When it was in his palm, he felt suddenly a lot less vulnerable and a lot more secure.

“There are no second chances, Meechum.”

Edward clipped the Badge back into place and it felt like nothing was ever wrong.

“Yes Sir.”

The Captain stared at him with a guarded expression that he couldn’t really place. His brows knitted together in something like frustration. But his eyes were not heated with irritation, but with wariness.

“Don’t get yourself into something you can’t back out of, Meechum.”

Edward raised a perplexed eyebrow, the only thing he’d gotten into for the past while was this job, that he’d almost lost.

Edward nodded anyway and stood up.

“Yes, Sir.”

—

When he left, he’d intended to head down to the Firearm lockers, so he could sign his gun back out. But when he passed Underwood’s office, he felt a tug in his chest to see him. The least he could do was say thank you to the man who had saved his ass.

He looked around, Nancy wasn’t in her office, and Doug was off somewhere doing god knows what. The only person in the whole hallway was an Agent, half way down.  
An anxious knock. A curt “come in,” and suddenly Edward stood inside Underwood’s office. He played victim to the Congressman’s powerful gaze.

“Meechum- I had a feeling you’d be in today.” Frank said, his voice reverberated around the quiet room, he didn’t look up from the file he was looking at.

Edward had his back up against the cool wood of the door, his chest fluttered, he chalked it up to anxiousness.

“Sir, th- I’d like to thank you, for talking to Cardiff. He told me you called.” Edward said. His eyes swept around the room, he lingered for a moment on the painting of the Capitol behind Frank’s desk.

“No need to thank me, Meechum.” Frank replied, while he stood and stepped around his desk and sat on the edge of it.

Edward’s eyes shifted back to the Congressman, and he met his gaze again.

“Now I want you to listen very closely to what I’m about to tell you.”

Edward nodded, Frank thickened his accent, and Edward’s chest tightened.

“From this moment on, you are a rock,”

Frank is still stared into his eyes like he was searching for something, Edward fought the urge to break it.

“You absorb nothing, say nothing,”

Edward felt a heat creep up the back of his neck, he didn’t want to ponder why.

“And nothing breaks you.”

Edward swallowed hard. He broke the eye contact, and looked down at his feet for a fleeting moment, before gazing back up.

Underwood looked pleased with himself, a smug smirk curled across his face.

“Do you understand?” He drawled, accent still thick.

Edward could feel a heat spread across his face, and he nodded.

“Yes Sir.”

Edward could do that. They’d already trained him on how to blend into the background. Stay on the edge of TV screens, only speak when spoken too; he’d always been obedient when it came to rules and orders.

“Good. Now if you’ll please excuse me, I have things I have to do.”

“Yes Sir, thank you again, Sir.” Edward said, and turned to leave.

He could still feel Frank’s eyes on him, even when he got downstairs to the Gun Lockers.

—

The rest of the day consisted of a long post up. One kid who got lost from his school during a tour, a whole lot of standing in one place.

But he supposed he deserved the worst shift of the day.

For a while, it seemed as if nothing was wrong. But when he was finally- finally done his shift, and only on call for escort, he retreated to the break lounge.

The first thing he heard when he opened the door was a wolf whistle. Inside were a bunch of people scattered throughout the room. They all turned toward the door when he walked in.

“Well look who it is!” A man Edward had never seen before yelled from the back of the room.

Edward whipped his head around to the the section of the room where the voice was from. It was from a group of people in the corner, they snickered in his direction.

“What?”

A ripple of laughter traveled across the room, passed between people like a game of telephone.

“We know Underwood’s been slipping it to ya’, come on its obvious Ed.” A voice yelled from the back of the room.

Another ripple of laughter.

“What- he’s not- Congressman Underwood?” Edward sputtered, and tried to back inconspicuously towards the door. Wondering what the hell they were talking about.

“He calls the Captain and tells him to give you your job back? Then someone sees you coming out of his office blushing like a bitch in heat? Put 2 and 2 together.” A girl Agent says from the back of the room, and Edward can feel an embarrassed blush spread across his face.

“Where did you hear about that? I- we’re not doing-“

The room vibrated with laughter before he could finish. Edward turned and wrestled the door open.

He ducked into an empty conference room, and locked the door behind him.

This was not good.

This was very not good.

Edward sat down in a chair, and leaned back into it. He recalled what the Captain had said earlier.

“Don’t get yourself into something you can’t back out of, Meechum.”

The Captain thought he was banging Underwood. Edward groaned, and threw an arm over his face. If the rumour got around to he’d surely want Edward gone, off his detail, and then who would want him? No one. He’d get transferred, which was only a step up from getting discharged.

Another spark of despair spread throughout his chest.

“Fuck.” He breathed into the warm air.

Fuck indeed.

A small thought nestled it’s way into his brain.

What would happen if Underwood heard about this?

He shook his head in disbelief, what was he thinking? He was Underwood’s protective detail, not to mention that the congressman was married, and a man. Plus he was like, 20 years older then him. Frank couldn’t have a rumour flying around like that, he’d kick him off his detail for sure. What the hell was he going to do?

He sat there for a while longer, until his legs were starting to fall asleep. Wondering how the hell he would get out of this, and how he could stop Underwood from hearing about it. Then his phone rang. He fumbled to get it out of his pocket and answered.

“Meechum.”

“Frank wants the car brought around.”

It was Nancy, who always talked to loudly into the receiver, because she thought she had too.

“Okay, thanks.”

She hung up.

Edward moved to get up, forced himself to ignore the tingling in his legs, and unlocked the door. He clenched his stiff hands into fists at his side and paid no heed to the chuckles and stares he was getting from staff and Agents alike.

—

The the parking garage was eerily quiet when he entered. The echo of dripping water and his steps were the only sounds. He unlocked the car, and just as he was about to open the door, there was a hand on his shoulder. Gripping him hard.

He spun around. Hand instinctively reached for his gun. But a hand grasped his wrist. He was pinned against the car door.

“What the-“

A knee collided with his groin, and he groaned in pain, knees buckling. He slid down the side of the door, and landed hard on his knees. Leaning into them through the throbs of pain.

“You think you can sleep your way up the food chain, huh?” The voice was loud, but faded because the garage was so empty, it died in mid air.

Edward tilted his head up sideways, and squinted at the assailant. It was an agent from the break room. Edward tried to focus in on his name tag.

Special Agent Carter Post

He tried to get up, his hand groped for his gun again but a foot collided with his side and produced a sickening crack. Edward hit the pavement hard, scrapped the side of his face against the rough surface.

“Think you can get ahead of the rest of us by exchanging fluids like cash, thats it, isn't it pretty boy?”

Edward scrambled towards the front of the car, and regained his footing. His side was throbbing, and his face stung. He got up as fast as he could but by the time he had his gun upholstered, his attacker was gone, hidden behind the sea of cars.

He leaned onto the hood of the car and gingerly touched a hand to his side, it ached. Maybe sprained rib or two? It was definitely going to bruise. He withdrew his hand and touched the scrape going down the side of his face, it stung a little. When he pulled his fingers away they had blood on them. He swore.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. A text.

“Where are you? —FU”

Edward swore. He carefully placed his gun back in it’s holster and jumped into the car, slammed the door a little too hard, and navigated out of the parking garage.

The sky was a washed out grey from the streetlights mixed with the inky sky when he opened the door for Underwood. The wind hit his face, and it made his scrape throb, but he didn’t wince. Underwood’s eyes lingered on him for a long moment, his hand twitched like he wanted to move it. But he slipped silently into the car without incident.

Edward couldn’t hide his wince when he sat down.

Frank traced the oozing scrape with his eyes from the rear view mirror, but he held his tongue. Edward caught him when he flicked his eyes to the mirror. They met gazes for a second before he flicked his eyes back to the road with a quiet inhale. Frank’s eyes lingered a little longer before catching interest elsewhere.

Edward merged into the next lane with ease, and paid no heed to the horn a few cars back, he knew it wasn’t for him. When the stream of cars came to a stop Frank grumbled something about evening traffic. Edward allowed himself to glance to the backseat again.

Frank was glancing at his phone, brows knitted together in concentration. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth. Edward’s eyes lingered briefly on the corner of Underwood's lips. Then swept down to see the smooth curve of his neck. Before scanning over his cheeks and back up to his eyes, which were now staring back at him. Edward watched his eyes swim with amusement before he realized that he just got caught staring... and was still doing it. He snapped his gaze back to the road, staring into the red tail lights ahead of him. The tips of his ears were turning red and his chest ached with longing... a longing to gaze back again and have that compelling gazed focused on him again.

The rest of the drive home was silent.

When he opened the door for Frank to step out of the car, he accidentally brushed his ribs. It made him lean against the door, in what he thought was a casual manner. But Frank’s eyes flooded with interest and concern.

Edward tried to recover without looking like it, but Frank could see right though him.

While Edward breathed heavily at the ground, grinding his teeth in time with the throbs, a thumb brushed lightly over the tender spot on his cheek. He looked up.

Frank brushed his thumb against the skin again, then let it rest against the corner of Edward’s mouth.

“Now what have you gotten into?” He said, as he withdrew his hand, still looking at Edward, eyes flickering from the scrape back to his eyes.

Edward swallowed, and closed the car door as a distraction. Frank let his gaze linger for a moment longer, then turned and ascended up the steps to his door.

He unlocked his door, and when he was halfway inside, he stopped to look down at the Agent.

“Goodnight, Meechum.”

Then he closed his door.

The rest of the night, Edward retraced the path of Frank’s thumb across his cheek without realizing it.

—

The next few days were a blur of late night shifts and early morning calls. Underwood had been busy, moving from place to place. Edward was running purely on coffee and sugar. He’d expertly avoided the break room. A few lunchtimes spent working overtime. A granola bar wrapper or two left in the bathroom stalls.

He hadn’t seen Agent Post for a while, and it put him on edge. Because when he could see him, he knew where he was. He took up the habit of checking corners before he turned them. Nobody even noticed when he started parking closer to the door.

But, just as he had thought everything was settling back into place, just as the whispers about him had stopped. Frank had to go to Gaffney again.

Now, that in itself would have been fine. Hell, he’d happily hopped on a plane and left the stress of the capital miles behind him. But of course, things never seemed to go his way.

He had been rushing to get all the bags into the back of the car. He didn’t like to leave Frank waiting, but Underwood didn't really seem to mind. He was talking through clenched teeth to someone on the other end of a phone.

But then the Captain approached. With the one man Edward had been looking for all week. Frank huffed, and pulled the phone to his chest to muffle the sounds.

“Agent Post will be accompanying you, I hope there’s not a problem.”

A spark of anger flared and faded in Edward, and left behind the residue of despair. He opened his mouth to speak but the agent sneered, Edward recoiled.

“No, it’s fine.”

Frank resumed talking on the phone with an uncaring shrug. Edward’s arms stiffened with distain as he pulled suitcases against his chest.

—

Driving had always been a favourite of Edward’s, because the only thing he needed to worry about was the task at hand. He could clear his mind of the worries that plagued him and just drive. But this time he was on edge, two sets of eyes latched onto him, one welcome, the other daunting.

When he passed Underwood a look though the rear-view, he was looking right back at him.

The flight was short, he, sat the row across from Frank, who paid no heed to him. He waved off flight attendants who batted eyelashes at him, and glanced out the window to the city below. He was lucky, Agent Post was sat 4 rows back, and Edward was shielded from him, at least for now.

The thought made his stomach turn. Once they land, he’d be a sitting duck.

—

The drive to the Underwood’s old home was just as awkward as the first, silent but deadly. When Edward finally finished dragging the abundance of suitcases up the steps, with not even a finger lent for help. He slumped down against a banister. Arms tired, shoulders stiff, and ribs still aching, he closed his eyes for a moment. Listening to the creak of the wood against his weight. Left hand reaching to rub at a knot in his right shoulder.

But he didn’t hear the quiet steps of Frank. Who had over the years discovered and mapped every loose floor board. He could slither silently through the house, unnoticed.

When Edward opened his eyes, Frank was standing silently, leaning lightly on the wall. His eyes swam with curiosity as he watched the Capitol Police agent slowly stand up straighter. The wood groaned.

“Sir, do you need anything?” Edward said, subconsciously smoothing his hands down the sides of his suit. His eye’s darted from Frank’s face to his suitcase, the only one he hadn’t gotten around to putting away yet.

Frank smiled at him, “no, I’m just observing.”

Edward nodded, and reached down to wrap his hands around the handle, keenly aware of Frank in the corner of his eye. He extended the handle of the suitcase, and cringed at the squeak.

Frank laughed, and Edward felt a pink glow settle over his cheeks. He turned away to hide it. He started down the hallway to his designated bedroom, when a hand pressed into his shoulder. Thumb digging right into the tender spot.

“Let me take that for you, I’ve hardly lent a finger to you all day.” Frank whispered, lips almost pressed up against his ear. He shivered.

Frank’s hand brushed against his as he grabbed the handle. Edward had to do everything he could to not settle his hand on top of Underwood’s. He could feel Frank brushing up against his back and he instinctively leaned back into it. When he realized what he was doing, he stood up straight, a flush creeped up the back of his neck.

“Thank you, Sir.”

Frank slid the suitcase along the floor, passing Edward.

From over his shoulder he said, “Go eat something, I haven’t seen you eat since we left DC.”

Edward stood there in the hallway watching him disappear around the corner, wheels clicking across the floor. The tips of his ears were burning and his heart was beating like a jackhammer in his chest. When he deemed Frank far enough around the corner, Edward slumped against the nearby wall, running his hands over his warm face. He could still feel the brush of Underwood up against his back, he sighed.

—

The stairs creaked when he descended them, his eyes darted around the room below, but Post was nowhere to be seen. He hadn’t seen him since they’d gotten everything unloaded out of the car, and he wondered if that was a good or a bad thing.

When he turned into the kitchen, he was graced with the emptiness of it, and made a beeline for the fridge. With his head buried deep into the crisper drawer, he didn't hear the light groan of the floor boards. When he stood back up, bag of baby carrots in hand, he jumped. Agent Post sat at the table. Face pulled into an intimidating sneer.

“Hey pretty boy.”

Edward stood up straighter, trying to look confident. Even though there was a nervous flicker in his chest. His eye’s darted to the door, then back to the agent sitting at the table.

“Stop calling me that.” He tried to sound intimidating, but it fell soft. He didn’t really want to cause a fuss over such a stupid nickname, he would only fight if he got swung at first.

Post raised his eyebrows, his lips curled up into a leer. Edward put the bag of carrots on the counter, and debated just leaving them and going back upstairs.

“I will when you stop being a fag, pretty boy.” Post said, eyes flashing angrily.

Edward’s blood turned hot, and he took a step towards the other man. But stopped himself short of passing the kitchen island. He surprised himself, he didn’t know why he felt so angry.

“Don’t call me that!” He kept his voice to minimum, not wanting the ruckus to be heard by the Congressman upstairs.

Post seemed amused by Ed’s anger, and slowly pushed his chair away from the table. Edward envisioned walking over there and slamming his smug face into the hardwood.

“What, does pretty boy get you riled up? Hm?” Post moved around the table and leaned on the kitchen island separating them. He wasn’t fazed by the harsh look Edward gave.

Edward slammed his fist down on the marble countertop, wincing at the sound. He brought his hand back after he realized what he had just done.

“Don’t call me a fag.”

Post barked out a laugh. It was harsh and loud, and made Edward grind his teeth. He gripped onto the side of the counter with a white knuckled fist.

“Oh, so you’re not denying it then, huh?”

Edward slammed his fist down on the countertop again. And turned away, ignoring the twitch in his hands and the image of punching the man square across the face. He had just gotten his job back, he wasn’t about to lose it again.

He let out a shuddered breath and rubbed a hand over his face, wondering why he had gotten so riled up.

He was about to go back to his bag of baby carrots, when a murmur floated through the air to his ears.

“God, it disgusts me that I’m in the same house as you.”

Edward whipped around again, vision blurring. He stomped his way back over to the island. His stomach ached in frustration and he didn’t even know why. He’s always had girlfriends. The occasional drunk game of spin the bottle aside he’s been straight for as long as he could remember. So he didn’t know why this got him so riled up, why it bothered him so much. Why couldn’t he just tell him to cut it out? Or ignore it?

“What was that?”

Post stood up straight again, and stared down his nose at Edward.

“I said I’m disgusted to be in the same house as you, pretty boy.” He said.

Edward seethed, he had his hand already clenched in a fist by his side, ready to raise. But Underwood ducked around the corner and Edward recoiled with relief. Both of them took a step back from where they were leaning over the island, Edward turned for his baby carrots.

“Am I interrupting something?” Frank drawled, as his eyes flickered between the two Agents with suspicion.

“No sir.” They both said.

—

Edward slinked back to the bedroom at the end of the hall, bag of carrots clutched in his hand. He ate them in silence, watching himself in the mirror hung on the wall. One hand crinkled the bag, the other ghosted over his bruised ribs through his dress shirt. He wondered why he had gone off so hard on Post, it had probably made things worse. Why was he so shaken up about it? He wanted to chalk it up to being tired and annoyed but he didn’t know if that was really the case.

He picked the last carrot out of the bag and let the plastic flutter to the ground, flopping back on to the bed with a huff. He closed his eyes and splayed his arms out to the sides of him, rumpling the cleanly pressed sheets.

He retraced the day in his head, Frank’s gaze on the back of his head as he loaded the suitcases into the back. a hand lingering just over his when he handed Frank his boarding pass. the unsettling glare from Post. the urge to cover Underwood’s hand with his own when he took his suitcase. The hot flair of anger, and now the unsettling feeling that he had something bigger to deal with than Post. Something that he had to deal with himself.

He succumbed to sleep a while after. He dreamt fleeting images of Post bleeding. Then himself bleeding. And Congressman Underwood’s callused hands gliding gently across his pained ribs.

When he awoke it was dark. The red numbers on the alarm clock swam but he knew it was early. His mouth tasted sour, and his stomach grumbled loudly in the quiet room. Edward forced himself to his feet, and shuffled around the room to the light switch. The light flooded the room and hurt his eyes, but he squinted through it. He unzipped the suitcase Underwood had so neatly placed in the corner. He peeled what was left of his rumpled suit off, and replaced it with a soft pair of pyjama pants and a shirt that hung far too loose on his slim frame.

He was about to climb back unto the bed when his hunger made itself apparent again. Apparently a bag of baby carrots didn't cut it. He gingerly opened his door. Careful not to make the hinges squeak, and shuffled his sock feet across the floor to the stairs.

He cringed when one stair moaned loudly but after a still moment he heard no movement, so he proceeded. The light’s were all out downstairs. He felt his way along until he reached the kitchen and flicked on the light farthest from the door.

He padded across the tile and glanced into the cupboard. He fished out a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter and placed them on the counter.

As he made his sandwich he hummed softly to himself, finding the quiet of the house peaceful. He carefully set the plate down on the table and turned towards the fridge. He rummaged around inside until he found a bottle of cranberry juice.

Edward pulled the chair out from the small table and poured himself a glass of juice, yawning quietly. He didn’t notice Frank’s soft foot steps across the floor and didn’t see him duck into the doorway.

Frank watched silently for a moment. Taking in the sight of Edward milling about at fuck-o-clock in the morning, in his pyjamas with his hair tossed every which way. Focused solely on pouring a glass of juice.

Frank made himself known with a step onto a creaky floorboard. Edward flicked his head up in surprise, eyes wide like a doe. His first thought was that it was Post, ready to ambush him in under the blanket of night. But when he saw it was Frank he stood up out of habit, with a different type of surprise.

“Congressman— I was just… I can leave if you want…”

Frank waved him off with a casual flick of the wrist. Edward noticed he was still dressed in his clothes from earlier. Albeit his blue shirt was a bit more rumpled and not so cleanly pressed.

“It’s quite alright Meechum, I don’t mind a little company every now and then.”

Edward sat back down, eyes following Underwood as he made his way over to the coffee machine and started it. He took a bite of his sandwich, and Underwood watched his coffee brew. The kitchen was silent other then the last dribble of Frank’s coffee dropping into the cup.

Edward watched as Mr. Underwood scooped up his mug and gripped it like a life line. Taking a small sip before he shuffled over to the table and sat across from the former-marine. Edward took another bite of sandwich and distracted himself by taking a drink of juice. Frank peered at the younger man through the steam coming from his mug.

“You’re up early, or shall i say late.”

Edward glanced up at the man across from him and then back down at the remaining half of sandwich he had left.

“I could say the same for you, Sir.”

Frank chuckled, and took another sip. Leaning back in his chair.

“I can never sleep in this damn house, I don’t know why.”

Edward hummed in agreement and looked back up at Underwood. He stared at him with an unreadable expression, as much as he wanted too, Edward couldn’t look away. Frank took a gulp of coffee, but didn’t break eye contact. Edward’s body went up a couple of degrees. His hand shook a little when he picked up his glass, the red juice in it sloshed around the sides.

Frank broke his calculated gaze in favour of watching Edward bring the glass to his lips and took a sip of coffee. Edward averted his eyes and took a nice long look at a painting hanging on the wall.

“Is there something going on that I should know about, Meechum?” Frank inquired after a long silence, and Edward fidgeted in his seat.

“No sir.”

He wondered if Frank could tell he was lying. He shifted his gaze back to the congressman in hopes that it will make him believe it. But the darkened gaze fixed on him made him shy away from full on eye contact.

His mind helpfully brought up all the things that Underwood could know about. From the rumours to his feud with Post to although impossible, his inner turmoil. He didn’t know which one would be worse.

“Rumours travel fast around the capital, Meechum,” Frank said then he took a long sip from his mug. Edward opened his mouth to say something, but Underwood spoke before he got the chance.

“Especially when you’re involved in them.”

Edward sat up straighter, his chest tightened in anticipation of the anger that he was sure would bloom across Underwood’s features. But when the outburst never came he carefully lifted his gaze. Frank looked at him with a hint of amusement, mixed with something like sympathy? Edward wondered if the Congressman was so tired he wasn’t thinking right.

“I’m sorry Sir- I tried to stop them but no one would listen… I understand if—“ He started, voice fragile with embarrassment. Frank interrupted him.

“No need for you to apologize, just figured you didn’t think I knew.”

Frank set his mug on the table top, and Ed finished the last of his juice to try and combat his dry mouth. Did Underwood even care? It didn’t seem like it. Edward wondered if Underwood was even affected by it at all.

“I still should have told you, sir.”

He had wondered if telling Underwood would make things better or worse, but he really didn’t want too. Because it was downright embarrassing, and he could handle a few offhand comments without confiding in him. Plus every time he was alone with him, he always had lost his nerve. But now, sitting here in his kitchen in the early hours of the day, he felt really shitty that he hadn’t.

“I don’t blame you for not.”

Edward wondered if he really meant that. But Underwood stood up and placed his mug in the sink before Edward had a chance to find out. Frank caught his eye again before turning and leaving the room. When he passed through the door he turned.

After a long pause, he spoke again.  
“Get some sleep, we have places to be in the morning.”

Edward smiled.

“Yes Sir.”

After Underwood had left, he stood up and tossed the rest of his food into the compost, set his dishes in the sink, then tried to be as quiet as possible when he climbed the stairs. When he got to the top, he checked the hallway, it was dark so he figured it was safe to venture down it but when he rounded the corner he was met with a problem.

“Sneaking back up from Underwood’s room are we?” A voice whispered somewhere ahead of him and he stopped in his tracks.

Edward tried to squint into the darkness, but Post was too far down for him to see. He stepped backwards to find the light switch but he was too late, there was a firm grip on both his shoulders before he could react.

His instincts told him to kick or elbow but he knew that if Post had a black eye tomorrow he would be the only suspect, so he just stood still even though anger pooled in his stomach.

“Jesus we flew in this morning! Can’t you stop being Underwood’s bottom-boy for a day at least?” Post spat. Ed just stayed quiet, and hoped that if he didn’t do anything Post would just get bored and retreat back into the darkness.

The grip holding him tightened to a painful level, but he bit his tongue and made sure not to move a muscle. Because goddamn he was tired. He just wanted to get a few more hours of sleep before he had to get up and write a travel report. Then deal with Post following him and Frank around all day.

“I see, Underwood’s got your tongue I guess, I can’t wait to tell the people back home about this.” He laughed and took his hands off of Edward, slinking back into the darkness. He cringed, he could almost hear the laughter coming from the break room when they were told Post ‘caught’ him.

He shuffled back to his room and closed the door, making sure to lock it. He collapsed back on to the bed again with a groan, but this time he took the time to peel back the covers and get under them. When he gazed at the alarm clock, it read 3:27, his alarm went off at 6. He sighed and rolled over onto his side But flopped back when it sent a sharp ache from his ribs up his side.

He stared up at the dark celling. He felt keenly aware that Underwood was just downstairs. Probably still awake. He closed his eyes and tried to will himself to sleep, but Underwood kept creeping into his mind. The stern look that he gave him a week ago when he had begged for his job back. the feeling of his thumb tracing over Edward’s cheek and the concern in his eyes. the smile he had given him a few days ago when he was reassuring him that no, he wasn’t going to report him for taking a wrong turn and getting them both lost. His chest ached every time a new image popped into his mind, he sighed and opened his eyes.

—

By the time he had reread and finalized his travel report, the sun was up. It shone though the sheer curtains creating a dim light source, the only other light was the desk lamp. Edward stretched and cringed at the popping of his joints. He glanced at his watch laying beside him, he still had time for a shower before he had to report downstairs. He got up and reached for his toiletry bag, wincing at the stretch of his ribs. He wondered if he had cracked a few of them and decided that if they weren't healed by next week he would definitely be getting them checked out, because Jesus they hurt.  
He opened the door and started down the hallway to the upstairs bathroom. When he got there, of course Post just had to duck out of his bedroom.

“Feelin’ a little sore this morning pretty boy?”

Edward just rolled his eyes, slipping past him to get to the bathroom. He pushed down the rising anger creeping up his throat. Post just whistled at him and ducked back into his room.

Inside the bathroom he shed himself of his Pyjama shirt, and turned to see his bruise in the mirror. It ran down most of his side, stopping about three quarters of the way down. It’s ugly brown and blue colour looked even worse in the harsh bathroom lighting. He brushed his fingers down the discolouration, hissing through his teeth.

After inspecting the injury for a little while he climbed into the shower, letting the warm water relax his muscles.

—

He towelled off his hair and slipped back into his pyjama’s, then he entered back into the hallway. Post was no where to be seen as he shuffled back to his room. He took his time getting dressed, because he really didn’t want to go downstairs and face the two people who were causing all of his problems.

When he finally descended the steps, damp hair sticking to the back of his neck, Frank and Post were talking to each other. Frank leaning against the doorframe, Post stood with his back against the wall next to the door. Frank was the first to notice him, turning and nodding to him, Post just gave a sly smile.

—

Frank had a meeting with the mayor, when Edward shut off the car, he waved a hand at him.

“I’m gonna’ be a while, no need for you both to hover outside for hours.”

Edward could see Post smile out of the corner of his eye.

“Yes sir.”  
“I’ll call you.”  
“Yes sir.”

Frank got out and slammed the door closed, and Edward watched him climb the steps to the Mayors front door. He pulled out of the driveway with a huff once he was inside.

Post laughed

“Does he make you call him sir in bed too?”

Edward just let out a sarcastic ‘ha ha’ and pulled out of the driveway.

—

The rest if the day resulted in half annoyance and half anger on Edward’s part. When he finally got the text from Underwood that he was done, he felt the best sort of relief. Post had gotten on his last nerve and he was about ready to just give in and punch him square across the jaw.

Post got out to open Underwood’s door, and when he was back inside the car he instantly felt much calmer, less irritated. When the door shut Edward flicked his eyes up to the rear-view mirror, catching Underwood’s gaze.

“Sir,” He said quickly, letting the last of the word die out as Post opened his door.

“Meechum.” Frank replied, eyeing him with a curious gaze, his eyes flicked from Post back to him.

As they drove back he swore he could feel Underwood’s gaze on him the entire time, but he could never catch him in the mirror.

—

When they got back they all went their separate ways. Edward had time to write up the travel log which he was grateful for. He was almost halfway done when his hand stared to cramp and his vision started to swim. he decided that it was time for a break. He thought about taking a nap, that was definitely needed. His sleep had been scarce… at least since he had gotten his job back. He had too much to worry about and not enough time to worry about it. But then again, he was still technically on duty. Sleeping on the job was almost as big of a no-no as leaving your post, he had been stupid enough to break the rules before. He sure as hell wouldn’t do it again. So with a nap out of the question he flicked through the games on his phone, but none of them really caught his interest. Then he debated the pros and cons of calling his mother, but then he’d probably blurt out something about being almost-fired. Or about the stupid capitol rumours. Then she’d have a fit and ship herself out to DC just to set him straight, so he decided he better not.

Now he was down to the last option, he could go get food. Which was a good idea in hindsight, because his stomach had been growling for the past half an hour. The only thing he had time to eat today was a coffee and a donut; but he didn't want to leave his room. Because it seemed like every time he did he would either run into Post or Underwood. Sometimes both, and he was really just ready to head back to the refuge of his apartment and he didn’t know why.

Sure he had pretty good reasoning to stay away from Post, the man had kicked him in the ribs, that seemed like a good enough reason. But he didn’t know why he was so adverse to seeing Underwood. It’s not like there had been anything that had made him wary. sure he knew that practically the whole capitol thought they were sleeping together, but he seemed to take humour in it. So other then it being a little awkward it really shouldn’t have been a problem for him to just go downstairs. But yet there was, whenever he went around him he either felt like he was going to pass out or like he was having a heart attack. There was no in between.

So, after a long thought, he pushed himself up out of his office chair and tiptoed down the hallway.

He came back up a little while later feeling relieved. No Post or Underwood in sight.

—

Their flight the next day was early, and Post seemed too tired to make any half hearted jabs at him, so it was a pleasant surprise. When they got back to DC he dropped Post off at the Capitol, and then drove Underwood back to his house in a comfortable silence. Then after a much needed Starbucks run he collapsed onto the couch in his apartment. He flicked on the TV to a rerun of an old football game, and tried to watch it, but he kept getting distracted.

The voice in the back of his mind was telling him about Underwood. Telling him all the things that he had tried to ignore for the duration of their 3 day trip and he was listening.

—

The next few days went surprisingly smooth. Other then the fact that Post had definitely told someone about him supposedly coming back up from Underwood’s room. There were definitely more remarks behind his back then he would care to admit.

Post had went to California with Congresswoman Sharp, so he didn't have to worry about him. Underwood had only needed driven from his house to the Capitol, so he had hardly any paperwork to fill out. So all and all he was having a good week. Until he had the dream.

He had come home from work tired as hell, and after his shower he fell into bed and was asleep before his head hit the pillow. Underwood said to not go and pick him up until 3, so he could sleep in, he was more then happy too.

—

The dream started with him being back in the kitchen in Gaffney, it was late at night. The only sound was him rummaging through the cup board for a glass, just like he had before. But this time a pair of arms snaked around his waist and a warm body pressed up against his back. He jumped and reached instinctively to the spot where his gun would’ve been, when his hand only grasped air he tried to turn around but the arms held firm.

“You’re up early.” A voice whispered in his ear.

It was Underwood. Edward relaxed in his grasp, but the arms didn’t let go.

“Sir—“

Frank pressed his lips to the base of Edward’s neck and the rest of his sentence was lost a gasp. He closed the cupboard door with a trembling hand and brought it down to grip the countertop.

“Sir, you really shouldn’t…“

Frank continued up Edward’s neck, drifting his lips along Edward’s spine until he reached his hairline. Frank smirked against the skin when Edward relaxed back into his chest. He could smell Underwood’s cologne, it smelled like pine needles and smoke. The arms loosened and Frank’s large hand’s grasped his waist, Edward shuddered.

He turned around and Frank pinned his hips against the counter. He was looking at him like a predator would its prey. It made Edward shiver. Even though he had a few inches over him, he had always felt smaller in comparison to the powerful man in front of him. Now was no exception. Underwood scanned his eyes across his face and let his lips curl up into a smirk, and then Underwood was kissing him. He kissed like he did everything else, he took the lead, dominated the playing field, he went in teeth first. It made Edward dizzy. He brought his hands up to grip Frank’s shoulders to ground himself. Because holy fuck, he was kissing the congressman.

It felt so different, being the one who was being pinned against something. Being the one who was being guided. It was different, but he liked it. His eyes fell shut when Frank brought his right hand up to his face and tilted Edward’s head farther to get a better angle. When both of their lungs screamed for oxygen, they broke apart. Frank wasted no time in attaching himself to Edward’s pulse point, not giving Edward a chance to catch his breath. The hand on Edward’s face dropped to grab his hip, one of Edward’s hand’s came off of Frank’s shoulder and gripped the edge of the countertop in an attempt to steady himself. Edward tilted his neck further, baring more skin for Frank to explore, letting out a low groan.

The hand that wasn’t on the counter snuck around to Frank’s back. Edward twisted his hand in the fabric of Underwood’s shirt and pulled him closer. He needed him closer, he needed to touch more. Underwood brushed his teeth against a particularly sensitive spot on his neck and Edward gasped out a shaky ‘oh’. He felt like he was on fire, Underwood was surrounding him, touching him, pushing all the right buttons at just the right time. The hand that wasn't on Edward’s hip drifted to the hem of his shirt and pushed up under the fabric. Underwood pressed his bare palm to Edward’s heated skin. Edward let out a shaky breath and let his mouth fall open. Then Underwood nipped at the sensitive spot above his Adam’s apple and Edward shivered and pressed his hips forward, seeking the friction he desperately needed. He gasped when Underwood pushed back, grinding their hips together achingly slow.

Edward gripped Underwood’s shoulders tighter, arching his back off of the counter.  
“Sir… Please… I—“ He stuttered into the air, uncaring that the words came out breathy and desperate. Underwood moved his lips up to whisper in Edward’s ear, and just as he opened his mouth to say something… Edward’s alarm went off.

—

He woke up. His alarm clock ringing loud and clear, cutting through his dream like a knife, dragging him back into the real world. He sat straight up. He half expected to be laying out on a kitchen floor. When he realized he was still in his apartment, alone mind you, he laid back for a moment, letting his alarm ring. He was panting, and his pants were sticking uncomfortably to the backs of his legs with sweat. He wondered if he was going crazy. He closed his eyes again and gingerly brushed a hand over his groin, bucking up into his hand. He groaned more with annoyance then arousal. He was so fucked.

He slapped the off button on his clock harder then needed. Rolled himself out of bed and into his bathroom, trying to ignore the ache between his legs. He turned the shower on as cold as he could handle. He peeled off his still sweat-soaked pyjama pants. He ironically recalled were the same ones he had been wearing that night a week ago in Underwood’s house.

He wondered what the fuck he was doing.

The cold spray did nothing to combat the heat radiating throughout his body. Every time he closed his eyes he could see Underwood glaring at him with a heat in his eyes that made Edward’s knees go weak. The more he tried to will his arousal away, the worse he made it. So he gave in with a sigh and turned the hot water back on.

He trailed one hand down his good side, the other braced him on the wall for support. He pictured it was Frank’s hand, large and rough that ghosted down over the jut of his hipbone then back up. Scratching pink trails into his skin with his fingernails. He imagined Frank’s lips ghosting across his neck just like in his dream when he finally reached down and grabbed his cock. 

—

When he stepped out of the shower he was frustrated. Underwood was married, and basically his boss, and like 20 years older then him and here was, having wet dreams like he was a teenager again. He was bewildered and horrified at the same time.

While he was getting ready he half heartedly tried to convince himself that it was an outlier, his brain was just trying to process the rumours and the stress and it spat out a random dream that didn't mean anything. By the time he left his apartment he still hadn't persuaded himself.

  
—

When he got to work he learned that Underwood’s birthday was in two days and he was half panicked. He didn’t know if he was supposed to get him a gift or not. Two weeks ago he wouldn’t have even spared it a thought, but he still felt he owed him for saving his ass. Plus now that he had been elevated from his temp job to Frank’s permeant security he felt like he needed too.

He had fretted over it so much that by the time he had made a decision to actually buy him something, it was 11:00 at night. The day before his birthday. So the next day after his shift he wandered around the mall. Gazing through windows of shops he knew he really couldn’t afford.

He left with a heavy dent in his bank account and a set of cufflinks that were nicer then any of the ones he’d ever owned.

On the way home he stopped at the emergency room, because all though his ribs were getting better, he just wanted to be sure. They sent him home with some pain meds and diagnosis of bruised ribs.

When he got back home he set the cufflinks on the bedside table with the case open, the yellow light of his lamp shone off them. he sat on the edge of his bed wondering if Frank would take them. He’d heard Underwood wasn’t one for gifts, he wondered if he’d even like them.

—

He woke up the next morning with a vague recollection of a dream, something to do with the cufflinks and a desk. He got up and went to make himself a pot of coffee. He flicked on the news for background noise as he shuffled around his tiny kitchen.

He passed by the Tv, steaming cup in hand, when bold words caught his eye.

Reporter Zoe Barnes Dead.

He stopped in his tracks and reached for the remote to turn it up.

“Reporter Zoe Barnes was tragically struck by a subway train at approximately 10:45pm last night. The police have since ruled her death an accident.”

He perched on the edge of his sofa listening to the reporter talk.

“According to the police, she fell in front of the on coming train and died on impact. A very sad accident.”

He wondered if it wasn't just that, a tragic accident. Her and Frank had grown farther and farther apart. He seemed agitated every time he came from her apartment. Plus Frank had left work earlier then normal yesterday. He tried to shake off the feeling that something was wrong as he got up and got ready to go get Frank, but he couldn’t.

He almost forgot the damn Cufflinks, and only remembered them after he was halfway down the stairs. So he had to run back up and get them; which in turn caused him to be 10 minutes late to pick Frank up. And he wasn’t very happy about it, which honestly freaked Edward out a bit.

“Meechum I’d very much appreciate it if you’d inform me when you are going to be more then 5 minutes late.” Frank said when Edward opened his door, harshly shoving his bag on to the seat beside him.

“Sorry sir, it won't happen again.” He sputtered out, closing the door.

Just before it shut he heard a faint ‘it better not’ and it made him shudder.

He made sure to get to the Capitol building as quick as he could. Frank mumbled quietly into his phone for most of the drive. When Edward glanced up at the mirror at a stop sign, Frank was smiling and talking in a quiet voice. Angling his head away and staring out the window. He wondered what he was talking about. Edward’s eyes lingered on Frank’s hand gripping his cell phone.

When he got to the Capitol he went off to do his normal daily tasks. Post had gotten back, so he was on the look out of him, and the air was humid which made his ribs ache every time he breathed.

He had time to ponder over Zoe Barnes and the more the day went on, the more he wondered if he even cared. He knew that now he would take a bullet for Underwood no matter what. He could never leave him now. Besides, there was no evidence that Underwood had even did it, it was ruled an accident, after all.

After lunch the news got around that Frank was going to be sworn in as the new Vice-President. Edward was excited. That was pretty fucking cool in his books. A voice in the back of his mind reminded him that the Secret Service took over the security of the VP and his heart sunk a little, but he still had a little while longer with Underwood, so he didn’t let it get him down too much. It was probably for the best anyway.

—  
—

Soon enough Nancy called to tell him to bring the car around. He fingered the small box in his pocket as he walked to the car. Part of him was still uneasy about giving them to Frank, part of him was excited.

Once he and Frank were on the road, he had to wait for the right moment to fish the box out. He found the moment at a particularly long red light. His fingers only trembled a little as he offered the small box to him. His heart beat hard as Underwood eyed him carefully.

“I know it’s a day late, and I hope it’s not inappropriate, but I wanted to give you this.”

Underwood brushed his hand over Edward’s probably more then needed when he took the small box. Edward held his breath as their gazes met in the mirror. Underwood smiled, his eyes sparkled.

“Thank you, Meechum.” He said, completely sincere as far as Edward could tell.

He returned his hand back to the wheel, feeling a little light headed. Frank held his eye for a little longer, then the light turned green. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

The rest of the drive was silent, whenever Edward caught a glimpse of Frank in the mirror he was always examining the box in his hand, it made the tips of Edward’s ears turn pink. When he pulled up in front of the Underwood’s home he got out to see him in just as he always had. Frank pocketed the small box when he got out of the car, and made it up two of the front steps before he turned on his heel to face Edward.

“Meechum.”

Edward took a step towards him, glancing quickly down the end of the street to make sure there was no one lurking there. Frank put both his hands in his pockets and stepped back down to the ground, a soft smile settled onto his face. Edward’s heart skipped a beat.

“I take care of my own, and you’ve proved yourself to be very valuable.” Frank said, taking a pause to scan the Agent’s face, “I would like you to be part of my security detail, once I get confirmed.”

Edward’s breath hitched, Underwood wanted to keep him around, it was like a dream coming true.

Sadly, he shook his head. “Thats the Secret Service, Sir. I’m Capitol Police.”

Underwood chuckled and said, “Then I’ll put you on the Secret Service.” Like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “If you’re interested, of course.”

Edward smiled, glancing away for a moment to look at in the direction sound coming from a few houses down.

“I’d be more then interested, Sir.”

Frank smiled again, but this time it reached his eyes.

“And I’m extremely grateful.” Edward said. Grateful was an understatement.

Underwood hummed, “Just keep being valuable, that’s the best way to show your gratitude.” Then he turned to head back up the stairs.

“I will… Mr. Vice-President.” Edward said, his skin tingled with excitement.

Underwood turned back and grinned. Edward made his way around the front of the car, well aware that Frank was watching him. He smiled all the way home.

He called his mother the moment he entered his apartment to tell her the good news, she was understandably doubtful at first. She hadn’t believed he was protecting a Congressman until he sneakily sent her a picture of him inside the Capitol, now for him to tell her he was going to protect the Vice-President was something hard for her to process.

After he finally had convinced her that he wasn't lying, he had a shower and fell asleep, he dreamt of fumbling with the cufflinks while trying to take off Frank’s shirt.

—

When he found out the dates for his training he was pretty bummed that he had to miss Frank’s swearing in. But when he finally came back to his home after a hard day of hand-to-hand combat techniques, he watched a replay of it on TV. Everything was normal, it happened in the Underwood’s home, and only one TV network was allowed in to broadcast it. But when the camera zoomed in as Frank raised his hand to say the oath, Edward almost fainted. He was wearing the cufflinks. The cufflinks that he gave him, to be sworn in as the Vice-President of the United States. Holy fucking shit.

He had been wondering if he was ever going to wear them. He had sneakily glanced at his cuffs everyday after he had given them to him, and Edward had given up hope. Then he just fucking wore them for his swearing in. It had to mean something, he must’ve known Edward had been looking for them. He must’ve known would watch it. He wouldn’t have just picked any random pair for his swearing in. Everything Frank Underwood did had a purpose, he had learned that early on. But what was the purpose of this, if there even was one?

Maybe it was a nod to him not being there. Or perhaps it was because he knew Edward had been waiting for him to wear them. Or maybe Underwood could see right through him, maybe he noticed the discreet glances and the trembling hands. Or … maybe it didn't mean anything at all.  
  
Edward rewinded to watch him bring his hand up for the oath again, those were definitely the ones he gave him, and Underwood deliberately made sure they could be seen on camera.

He’d never been so excited to start field training.

—

The first day he stepped into the White House as a secret service agent was 3 days after Frank’s swearing in. It felt unreal to swipe his newly acquired security card through the slot at the security checkpoint. He was taken on a walkthrough of the White House and then sent downstairs for his first shift. He was basically vibrating with excitement.

His first week he was assigned to the main hall, (later, he would learn it had earned the nickname ‘rookie hall’). Even the dull passing by of tourists, janitorial staff, and fellow Agents couldn’t dull the pride thrumming through his veins as he moved from post to post for hours on end.

Nearing the end of his shift, he was informed that the Vice-President wanted to see him. Which Edward was fully happy to oblige with, because he had been itching to catch a glimpse of Underwood all day. He hadn't been able to get him out of his head.

He ducked his way past the checkpoint where the general public wasn’t allowed anymore, passed rooms where the most important negotiations in the world took place, and made his way towards the VP’s office.

The hallway leading up to his office was hauntingly quiet, the tap of his shoes on the marble echoed around him. There was no one at the desk to let him in, so he knocked.

“Come in.”

The door opened silently. Frank was sitting at his desk glancing at something on his computer. He glanced towards the door and motioned for Edward to come in.

“Ah, Meechum, I’m glad you’re back.” He said as he placed the papers spread across his desk in a neat pile.

Edward closed the door behind him, and stood in the middle of the large office. A heavy silence settled over them. Frank took his glasses off and folded them up.

“It’s gonna’ be nice to have a familiar face back on my detail, god the Secret Service are annoying.” Frank said, rummaging around his desk for something.

Edward cast his eyes downward, giving a small smile. His heart was racing. Frank gave no indication that there was anything he really needed to say, nothing that Edward was supposed to read between the lines.

“I’m glad to be back, Sir.”

Frank eyed him out of his peripheral vision as he fished a glasses case out of a cluttered drawer. Edward shifted his weight awkwardly, wondering if he could bring up the swearing in without being too suspicious.

It was like Underwood read his mind.

“A shame you weren’t able to be at my swearing-in, though.”

Edward flicked his gaze up to meet Frank’s eyes, they were as calculating as always.

“I caught a re-run of it on the news, Sir.” Edward said, taking a tentative step toward Frank’s desk.

Frank’s lip curled into a small smirk as he caught Edward subconsciously glance at his wrists that he had folded on his desk. But he didn't say anything. The air between them buzzed with tension, Edward gulped, his mouth was dry.

Underwood broke the air and spoke, “I don’t want to keep you, Meechum. You’ve probably had a long day.”

Edward nodded. His mind was racing with questions, but his mouth wouldn’t cooperate.

“I just wanted to thank you, again. For this job opportunity, Mr. Vice-President.” Was the only sentence he could form as he turned to exit the room.

“Remember, just keep being valuable.” Was the last thing Underwood said before turning to his laptop screen. Edward took the cue and glanced back at Frank once more before he closed the door behind him. He waited for a minute in the hallway outside to calm his beating heart and to cool his warm face.

So, Underwood definitely wore the cufflinks on purpose. Now he knew that he had noticed. So Frank wanted him to read between the lines. The ball was technically in Edward’s court, he could either figure out what the hell it meant, or he could just leave it. But, Underwood was never one to be dormant in other-peoples decision making. He knew Edward knew, and it seemed like he wanted Edward to do something about it.

On the drive home Edward contemplated a few different scenarios that could play out. He could just ask Frank what the fuck it meant, or he could keep trying to figure out why, or maybe he was just reading way to far into things and all it was was a subtle shout out.

He wondered if he was just going crazy.

—

Within a week of Edward being at The White House, Frank requested he be placed on his primary team that traveled with him. Which meant Edward was also to be stationed in their house whenever Underwood was home. He was more pleased then he cared to admit.

He felt very out of place as he watched Frank and Claire drift about their home getting ready for work. It felt like he was intruding, even though they both seemed like they didn't notice the Secret Service watching their every move.

If anyone wondered why he was moved up to Frank’s primary detail within his first two days, no one said anything.

If anyone noticed the way Frank nodded at him when he walked past, no one said anything.

Frank was ready to leave when he announced he had to go to a meeting at the capitol. That was urgent and he couldn’t miss. Edward, who was gathering up file folders in the corner, whipped around to listen, probably a little to quickly to be inconspicuous, because Frank’s gaze settled on him for a second with a small quick of an eyebrow then back to the head of his detail.

—

Edward rode shotgun in Frank’s car on the way to the Capitol. He hoped that Post would just fuck off and leave him alone, or maybe not even notice he was there. He listened to the chatter in his earpiece and glanced back at Frank when ever he had the chance.

When they pulled up to the Capitol it was a bit bigger deal then before. Edward was stationed right by the front door. Frank caught his eye as he passed, and Edward averted his gaze before he got too caught up.

When he got inside, he was stuck down at the tail end of the hallway in front of Frank’s old office. For the first twenty minutes there was no sign of Post anywhere, but then he passed by casually, and almost didn't notice him. When he did he perked up.

“Hey pretty boy.” He said, peering down the hallway to see who was close enough to hear.

Edward sighed gave a nod of acknowledgement, surprisingly Post went on his way, continuing down the hallway. Edward wondered if that was all he would see of him today.

When it was time to change posts, Edward went down the hallway to where he was stationed next, but before he turned the corner to turn to the man hall, he heard three people he recognized as other members of Frank’s detail talking. He paused for a second to listen.

“I heard he got fired and then Vice-President Underwood got him his job back.”  
  
“Well apparently he’s sleeping with him.”  
  
“Doesn’t surprise me, he spent two days in the rookie hall then got promoted to primary detail. It took me three years to even get on the Secretary of Defence’s detail, let alone VP.”

“But seriously, he has a wife!”

Edward slumped forward, hitting the wall with a soft thud. Of course, Post would spread that around to the other Secret Service, and of course he wouldn't spare any of the details. Now, he was completely and utterly screwed. Not only would all the other Agent’s hate him because he had skipped years of Service just in the capitol, they would also hate him because they think he’s sleeping with the VP.

He was going to kill Carter Post.

He just wished that he had stayed in the rookie hall, for at least more then a week. Plus if Frank heard about this again, he might not be so lenient. He was the Vice-president now, he couldn't afford this kind of controversy, even if it was just rumours. If it ever got out to the press, they'd both be absolutely fucked.

Edward took a deep breath to calm himself down and turned the corner. A few feet down there was another agent, and when Edward walked past him he could feel his eyes following him as he stationed at the end of the hall.

He would have to tell Underwood now. He couldn’t keep this to himself for Underwood to hear through the grape vine. His career would take serious damage if anyone outside of the service heard about this, and even if it meant Edward would loose his position in the Service. He would just have to deal with it. It was his job to protect the Vice-President anyway he could, loosing his job might just might have to be the way he does it.

—

Side eyes and whispers followed him around when he they all arrived back to the White House later that day. By the time Frank was leaving it had spread it’s way through almost all of the service. They were much more discreet about it though, no one ever said anything to his face, and if he hadn't heard people talking in the hallway he probably wouldn’t have known anything was up.

Edward was riding back to Frank’s house in a car with 3 other Agents, and it was awkward. None of them talked, they just cast interested looks his way when they thought he couldn’t see them.

—

He was glancing over floor plans of the venue Frank was supposed to visit the next week when Frank slipped outside the glass door. He slipped out with him. He could feel the eyes attached to the side of his head from inside. They were watching.

But this was the only time he had been alone with Underwood in a week and a half, he had to tell him about the rumours before it was too late.

Frank hadn’t noticed Edward standing by the door until he quietly slid it closed.

“You don’t have to stand by that door,” Frank mused as he sat himself down on a metal chair, taking sip of the beer he was holding.

Edward cast a glance to the Agent’s inside, none of them were straight up staring, but they would surely take note of him not being by the door anymore. This was his chance, he had to take it.

He made his way over to Frank watching the door with the corner of his eye, wondering if there was a way to worm his way out of this one. He knew where he was standing the people inside couldn't see him. Frank gestured to the empty chair opposite him, but Edward shook his head.

“Thank you, sir, but I’m supposed to stay on my feet.”

Frank shrugged, “I wont tell if you won’t.”

Edward eyed the chair for a moment then cast a quick glance back to the door before perching on the edge of the cool metal. Frank eyed him for a moment and he averted his gaze, staring down at a loose stone on the walkway.

After a moment of heavy silence Frank spoke again.

“Beautiful night.”

When Edward looked back at the Vice-President he wasn’t looking at the dark sky or the plants that were still damp from the slight rain that had happened that afternoon, he was looking straight at him. He swallowed hard, and hoped Frank didn’t notice.

“Yes, Sir.”

They both sat there for a moment, Edward gazing up at the dark sky, Underwood still looking at him. Edward had the start of a sentence on the tip of his tongue, and he was trying to will himself to say it.

Yet again Underwood seemed to read his mind.

“If anyone is giving you trouble about anything, they can talk to me.” He said in a way that made Edward sure that he knew.

Edward pondered for a moment how the word could’ve possibly gotten around that fast. But he had discovered that after Peter Russo and Zoe Barnes you just learned to not ask about things Frank happened to know.

“Sir—“ He took a breath and Underwood angled his body so he was directly facing him.

“The capitol rumours have spread to the Service.”

There, it was out. Frank knew, he had told him, and now he was probably going to be assigned to another detail and this new shiny job was going straight to hell. Underwood sighed, but otherwise just stayed quiet. Edward was brave enough to lift his gaze to meet Frank’s and the Vice-President’s face was pulled into a grimace.

The only noise came from the passing cars and the commotion inside the house. They both sat in silence, Frank’s eyes were calculating. Edward fidgeted in his seat.

“They’re bothering you about it.” Was the next thing that came out of Frank. Edward was half taken aback. He had just told him something that could potentially become very toxic to his career if it ever gained traction with the press, and here he was worrying about him. A seed of pride blossomed in his chest.

“Not really, sir, it was worse at the Capitol.” He said, wondering how much time they had left out here before someone ‘happened’ to poke their head out and catch them like this.

Underwood hummed for a brief moment, pausing to consider his options.

“Who started it.”

“Sir—“

Frank sighed and took a sip of his beer.

“It has to be someone in the capitol, so who is it?” He drawled, his voice was starting to get rough around the edges, and Edward knew it wouldn't be good to egg him on.  
“Agent Carter Post, sir.” Edward admitted, he hated having to snitch, but it was for Frank’s own good, so he had to.

“Christ, the one that came with us to Gaffney?”

Edward nodded, sheepishly looking at his shoes. He wished he had had this conversation before, before this mess had even made it out of the USCP break room.

“I’ll deal with this.” Frank said, his voice low and gravelly. It made Edward shiver. He subconsciously wondered if he’d hear of Post’s untimely demise tucked into the corner of a newspaper.

“Thank you, Sir.”

Frank sipped on his beer and then a flash of amusement crossed his face. He held out his bottle and gestured for Edward to take it. He smiled, trying to will the flush that was crossing his face away. Frank gestured again and Edward let out a chuckle and took it, glancing to the door before taking a sip.

Frank smiled as Edward passed the bottle back.

“Why do you do this?”

Edward shifted in his seat.

“Do what, Sir?” He asked.

“I’ve always been awestruck, people who are willing to take a bullet for someone else.” Frank continued, gesturing between them.

Edward nodded, flushing under the curious stare Underwood was giving him.

“That’s how I serve my country.”

Frank thought about that for a minute, glancing towards the door before back to the Secret Service Agent in front of him.

“Well, there’s a lot of ways to serve your country.”

Edward shrugged and smiled.

“And this is my way.”

He wondered if he imagined Frank glancing at his lips for a split second.

Frank sipped his beer and they sat in silence. Edward couldn’t help but notice the way his lips curled around the bottle and the curve of his neck that lead down to the collar of his shirt. Edward was lost in the recollection of the dream, when he fisted his hands in Frank’s shirt, when the lips wrapped around that beer bottle were firmly attached to his neck.  
When a car revved its engine in the distance, it broke Edward out of his reverie. Underwood was smirking, eyebrow quirked in mocking interest. Edward felt hot under his collar.

Frank caught his eye with a knowing gaze, Edward was captivated. He looked at him as if he knew Edward’s every thought. The hustle and bustle from the streets faded into the background. It was only him and Underwood sitting at a table, alone.

Underwood’s eyes were soft in the dim light, and Edward knew it was wrong but he found his eyes traveling down the soft curve of Underwood’s neck, wondering if the skin was smooth or rough, wondering if Underwood would ever entertain the possibility of Edward finding out.

Frank just let him stare with a small smile. A voice in the back of Edward’s mind was yelling at him to stop, telling him that we was just fucking everything up, but he wasn’t listening. He felt like there was nothing else he could be possibly doing at this moment in time. He was meant to be here, and meant to look to his hearts content.

But the moment ended a second later, when Claire ducked out of the doorway and motioned for her husband to come inside. Edward stumbled out of his chair and into the house, back into reality.

—  
  
Frank could go to jail.

That was all he got out of the next two days. All that was on the news was the possibility of money laundering with the Chinese and that if the allegations were true then both Underwood and President walker were fucked.

As much as he longed to do something about it, he knew he had no jurisdiction over the judicial branch, there was nothing to be done.

He could tell Frank was stressed. The circles of under his eyes were getting darker, and he was constantly rubbing at the spot where his ring used to be. He wished he could help.

—

Frank called him to his office in the evening. When Edward opened the door he was greeted with a very pleased looking vice-president.

“Sir?”

Frank gestured to one of the chairs in front of him.

“Meechum, sit.”

He did, Frank spoke again.

“Carter Post has been handled.” Frank was blunt, straight to the point. Edward hoped to god that didn’t mean he was dead in a ditch somewhere.

“Thank you, Sir,”

Frank glanced toward the open door and sat down the pencil he was fiddling with. Edward watched him rise and move to close the door, turning the lock along the way. He turned around and leaned against the heavy wood door, crossing his arms and sending a soft look Edward’s way. Edward shifted in his seat.

“Sir?”

Frank smiled and pushed himself off the door, and went to lean on the front of his desk, right in front of Meechum’s chair. Edward stared up at him with wide eyes. Underwood slowly caressed Edward’s cheek with the back of his hand giving him time to move if he so desired, Edward’s breath hitched. His heart was thumping so loud in his chest that he swore Underwood could probably hear it.

Frank’s hand traveled up into Edward’s hair, caressing the short locks. Edward’s skin was on fire, his nerves were alive with the sensation of having the Vice-President of the United States touch him this way. The hand that wasn’t in his hair drifted down and grasped Edward’s and pulled him to his feet, with Underwood now standing up straight, they were toe to toe.

“You are absolutely exquisite, Meechum.” Frank drawled, the hand holding Edward’s let go and landed lightly on Edward’s hip. He shied away from the compliment, tipping his head down to catch his breath, but Underwood was quick to detangle his hand from his hair and put a finger under Edwards chin, gently tilting his head back up. Suddenly, Edward really wanted to be out of his damn suit, because Underwood’s gaze was heated, and the room felt a few degrees hotter than before.

“If you don’t want this then say so.” Frank breathed, squeezing Edward’s hip.

Edward didn’t even have to think about his next words.

“Please, Sir.”

Underwood waisted no time, connecting their lips with a ferociousness that Edward could’ve never dreamed of. The hand on Edward’s waist slid around until his arm was around his waist, and the hand under his chin traveled back up to the back of Edward’s head, grasping a handful of hair. Edward’s arms shook as he wrapped them around Underwood’s neck. He couldn't believe this was actually happening, after so long, this was happening. He longed to touch, to feel the fabric of Underwood’s overly-expensive suit. He longed to be touched, let Underwood have his way, mold him like clay, feel the rough hands dragging down his skin. Underwood tugged slightly at Edward’s hair, his tongue fighting its way into Edward’s mouth.

Edward grew bolder, one arm drew away from Underwood’s neck and his hand glided down over Frank’s shoulder and slipped under Frank’s tie to the top buttons of his shirt, but he shied away from actually popping one open, suddenly scared to do the wrong thing, so his hand just stayed there as he groaned into Frank’s mouth.

Underwood broke away, his hand slipped out of Edward’s hair and he stroked a few stray hairs off of Edward’s forehead. Edward was sure he was a sight to behold, he could tell his lips were starting to swell, and he felt like heat was just rolling off of him. Underwood confirmed his suspicions as he loosened his grip around Edward’s waist.  
“You are beautiful, Edward.”

If he wasn’t blushing before then he sure as hell was now. He opened his mouth in an attempt to squeeze the words ‘thank’ and ‘you’ out of his throat but he was breathless. Underwood smiled, side stepping away from his desk to give Edward some room. Edward still stood, gaping at the powerful man in front of him, he wondered if he should pinch himself.

The sound of footsteps outside of the office door jerked him out of his reverie, and he carefully sat himself down in the chair behind him. He rubbed his thumb nervously over the seam in the leather arm rest and swallowed hard.

Frank circled around so he was back behind his desk, “I’m sure you know well enough that this isn’t to be spoken about.”

Edward cast his eyes downward, “yes, sir.” He needed to escape the harsh stare of Underwood’s gaze, that he longed for only a few moments ago.

“But that doesn’t mean we can’t go on, with discretion of course.”

The words were music to Edward’s ears. He perked up in his seat, “Thank you, Sir.”

Underwood gave him another small smile before dismissing him.

—

For the remainder of his shift Edward had to try his hardest to keep a straight face; even though inside he was filled with joy.

**Author's Note:**

> I may get around to finishing this if i ever get the motivation too but honestly this didnt even really have a plot when I started.


End file.
